Fire with Fire
by Sterling silver
Summary: She's a first year at Hogwarts, with as many secrets as any other student. And she must stand by and watch the Chamber of Secrets be opened - and do nothing. One of Ginny's friends tells a story. A Mary Sue: You have been warned.
1. Chapter one, in exposition

I make no attempt to claim ownership to any of J.K. Rowling's characters or universe. However, Sterling and all her many quirks, oddities, and histories are mine, so hands off. (Wow . . . I sound temperamental there. Sorry.) Without further ado, because I hate long author's notes, the story. Suggestions are appreciated and will be considered. Cheers. *  
  
As a first year . . . it was my first year going to Hogwarts, at least, and I huddled on the train. Rumor had it that Harry Potter was but three cars down; I was straining to resist the temptation to go find out. He probably had enough admiring fans cluttering up his space, and anyways, I was much too shy to do something so bold. It would have been nice to see the boy who'd defeated Voldemort face-to-face, though. I should have liked that.  
  
But I made no move from the car I was in. The hills were rolling past the window, lazily, as the train snaked through the countryside. Mist danced over them and faded into rolls of cloud. I felt a sudden, sharp longing for something I could not have, and then I settled back into my chair.  
  
Some time passed, and there was a tap at the glass. A kindly looking witch was pushing a tray of sweets, selling them to all interested. I looked down the list. A lot of the entries were chocolate, which made my mouth water but my head spin, and I shook said spinning head and selected some peppermints. I paid the lady, and she smiled broadly and left. She seemed a nice woman; nice enough. I felt a little lonely.  
  
What was I doing on this train, off to Hogwarts, anyways? Panic had encroached upon my mind as I had no defenses for it, and it was now reminding me, stealthily, of all my doubts. Perhaps they had picked the wrong girl! I was unaccustomed to this talk of witchcraft and wizardry, and I wondered what they'd have me do. I saw no hint of the Elements in it, nor of the Pines, and this did not surprise me, really, but frightened instead. I did not know what I was going to do. Oh, I had magic; and the ability to draw on the magic in anything, leaving me with a nearly unlimited supply if I had time and concentration enough. But I did not have Itheir/I magic.  
  
What if this wand-waving got me nowhere? My wand itself had been an obvious pick. Pine, with a unicorn's hair. But it had felt off when it had shot its sparks into the air, as though something weren't right. As though something were tilting, and myself aboard it, and falling. I shivered. What was I going to do? How was I going to hide myself in this train-ful of people for whom this wizardry felt right? I knew nothing about them, about their world. I knew only echoes of my own.  
  
Another rap at the glass made me start, and I looked up. A small girl, skinny and redheaded, with freckles splayed across her nose, was standing there tentatively. I gave a nod and she opened the compartment door.  
  
"Excuse me," she said softly, "ah - have you seen a toad anywhere?"  
  
A toad . . . I shook my head. "I haven't," I said, "I'm sorry." I forced my lips to smile at her. She looked just as lost and frightened as I did! And it dawned on me, despite my traditional solitude, that I wanted company.  
  
She whispered a "thanks," and started to close the door.  
  
"No, wait," I said suddenly. "What's your name?" I sounded desperate and I knew it, but I felt every one of my small eleven years so very acutely in that moment, and I needed company.  
  
"Me?" she said, and her cheeks reddened with a shy blush. "I -I'm Ginny Weasley. It's my first year."  
  
"Hello, Ginny," I said, my smile strengthening so something sincere. "My name's Sterling Walsh. It's my first year, too."  
  
She grinned a little. "Say," she said, "I'm trying to help look for a lost toad right now, but maybe after we find it, I'll come on back."  
  
"That sounds fine," I said with a smile, and she nodded and closed the compartment. I settled back into my seat once more, looking at the empty seats. There were friendly people on this train; I simply had to choose to find them.  
  
But Ginny had come to my door. I had not gotten up to find her. A little nagging voice in my brain told me that I really ought to go get up and find another similarly nervous first year, but my solitude kept me where I was. One person I could deal with, Ginny I could handle, but several at a time . . . .? No.  
  
I waited.  
  
She came back about fifteen minutes later, shyly knocking, and I beckoned her in. It was on the tip of my tongue to start a fire in the empty grate on the wall, since she looked cold, but I held back from it and simply gave her a seat.  
  
"How are you?" I asked her carefully.  
  
"I'm fine," she said.  
  
"To tell the truth," I said slowly, "I'm more than a little intimidated by this train thing, and the prospect of Hogwarts at the end of it. Do you know how they picked us?"  
  
Ginny shrugged. "Not the foggiest," she said, seeming like she was warming up to the conversation a little. "My whole family's gone to Hogwarts. I think I was simply the last of the Weasleys, and that's why they picked me."  
  
"Oh," I said. It dawned on me why she might have looked cold; her robes were not new, and they could have been a boy's robes at her age. At our age. I looked uneasily at my own. "My family - they're not the Hogwarts types, exactly."  
  
"They're Muggles?" she said cheerily, enthusiasm tinting her voice. "Really?"  
  
I thought a moment, trying to remember. Muggle, muggle . . . oh, yes. The complete nonwizarding type. I weighed my options . . . yes, that quite covered Peggy and Dean, the psychologist and the lawyer. I nodded.  
  
"That's amazing," Ginny said, and I could see that though questions were straining in her voice, she was refraining from asking.  
  
I changed the subject. "Say," I said, "Is it really true that Harry Potter's three cars down?"  
  
She blushed furiously. "No," she said, "I don't know where he is." She paused, clearly not done, and then she said, "I've met him, though . . . ."  
*  
  
When the train arrived, we had exhausted the topic of Harry Potter, with whom Ginny was clearly smitten, and Houses, which she explained to me.  
  
"All my family's been in Gryffindor," she explained, "so I may well be too." She said it as though it were still open, but it was plain in her voice that anything else would be a crushing blow. "What about you?"  
  
I shrugged. "Well," I said, thinking the Houses over, "how do they separate you?"  
  
"Oh!" Ginny seemed startled for a moment that I didn't know, but then I could just see her remember, 'Muggle family' and begin berating herself for not telling me. "There's this hat you put on, see, and it reads your mind and puts you in a house. My two brothers would tell you that you had to fight a dragon, but you don't really."  
  
I smiled. A hat, even a mind-reading one, was not nearly so bad as a dragon. "Maybe I'd like to be in Gryffindor, too," I said, "if you are."  
  
Ginny smiled. "Well, that's nice of you," she said, and then paused, distracted. "Look, the train's slowing down! We're almost there!"  
  
Our eyes lit up as we stared out the window, watching the now-nightlit scenes slow down. A hint of a moon shone silver through the clouds, and I could see in the distance the lighted turrets of a castle coming into view. I smiled.  
  
"We'd better get ready, shall we, Ginny?" I suggested. "Say, what do I need to do?"  
  
She looked me over. "Well," she said, "they'll get your luggage, and you'll go on a boat ride. We're both in robes already, so we're set."  
  
A boat ride? "You, too?" I asked.  
  
She blushed. "Yeah," she replied.  
  
"Sounds like fun!" I said. I stood up and carefully looked over the compartment. I hadn't gotten anything out; it was only my trunk, Ginny, those peppermints, and myself. I offered a mint to Ginny, who blushed and took it eagerly. The rest, I swept into my pocket; I was sure I'd need them sometime during the year, and would probably have to find out how to get more.  
  
Then Ginny and I waited, now in silent anticipation, for the train to stop.  
  
When it did, we both looked anxiously at each other and then got off. The night was less misted than it had seemed from within the train, and the air was a clear, cool temperature.  
  
We were shooed, by the calling, "Firs' years, over here!" to a dock on a perfectly smooth, silver -coloured lake, and I saw the boats waiting. A giant man stood helping us onto boats, and I settled into my spot on one. Somehow, Ginny and I had gotten separated, so I was once more all alone.  
  
Six others joined me in my boat, and one of them came up to me right away, waving a camera and shouting happily. "Hello, there," he said excitedly, "My name's Colin Creevey. Say, did you hear that Harry Potter's going to be at school with us this year?"  
  
I smiled at his enthusiasm. "Yes, I did. I'm Sterling Walsh. Nice to meet you." "Bloody good that'll do us, having that git at school," someone grumbled, and I caught sight of an unpleasant-looking boy, smirking at Colin and wearing a heavy serpent ring. "The Boy who lived, blah."  
  
I raised my eyebrows. "And who might you be?" I inquired, my voice as brittle and polite as I could make it.  
  
"I'm Hendrick Lodwhyn," he said, and then added, "Of a perfect reputable wizarding family."  
  
I pretended hard that it was the jibe that had struck me. Lodwhyn! It would only take a slight alteration of the pronunciation to make it the word for 'field,' and I remembered it abruptly. I swallowed hard, and said, "I'm Sterling Walsh. Good to meet you."  
  
"Don't join up with him," Colin hissed in my ear. "He's going to be in Slytherin, mark my words."  
  
I shook my head at Colin. "No, Colin, even the snakes deserve their meat."  
  
He blinked, and I saw Lodwhyn's eyes open slightly. I was intrigued by this unfriendly character. The others in the boat were all looking at us now; a timid, plump girl and her skinny, pretty friend; a boy with dark brown hair and blue eyes who showed nothing on his face; and a quiet, tawny-coloured girl with hair that pooled around her thighs.  
  
Lodwhyn looked at me oddly under that moonlight. "Well, Walsh," he said slowly, "you seem to have something up your sleeve. What would you know of snakes?"  
  
There was a slow heartbeat's time that took forever. What would I know of snakes? I looked carefully at the silver band around my ring finger, and I thought hard, the corners of an ironic smile beginning to curl at my mouth. What would I know of snakes?  
  
And then the castle came into view over the hill and everyone's attention changed, though Lodwhyn threw a strange glance at me.  
  
What on earth had happened to my idea of staying anonymous, in Inxcheala's name? *  
  
He did not speak to me again before the Sorting. He clearly knew a few other boys, who had the same funny arrogance to them as he did, and he stood, muttering to them, laughing at some of the others. But he did not laugh at me. I think I had frightened him too badly; I supposed I had said it rather oddly. Saying snakes deserved meat was no great strangeness; but, it seemed, standing up so calmly to this boy was. He and his cronies acted like they owned the place, and the others cowered before them.  
  
We stood on the castle steps, waiting while the wind blew through our robes, and lifted my auburn hair off my shoulders, blowing past my ears and chilling them. I reveled in the cold as it nipped me. I must have been a sight, standing there in the cold wind. But no one got a chance to notice, for just then the castle doors swung open and a woman, slight of body but clearly tall in authority, stood there. Her black hair was pulled into a tight bun and she had glasses perched upon her nose. She had a stern expression on her face, but my heart leapt, for I could tell she was a fair woman.  
  
"Come this way," she said, beckoning, and we all followed.  
  
She led us in and explained about the Sorting, which I understood somewhat already from Ginny's explanation. I turned, trying to find Ginny in the crowd, and when I saw her, I waved. She smiled.  
  
Then we were moving again, forward, and there was a roomful of people sitting at tables, though there were empty spaces here and there where I supposed the first years would sit. There was a hat sitting on a stool in the front where I supposed we were supposed to go, and before I could be awed of the size of the hall we were in, the hat began to sing. It extolled the virtues of the many houses, and then after some applause, Professor McGonagall, as I learned the stern woman was named began to read off the names of the first years. One by one, we went, and the hat eventually announced the house the person was to be in. Lodwhyn and his friends were sorted into Slytherin, which I supposed pleased them. Before I knew it, McGonagall was calling my name. "Walsh, Sterling!"  
  
Suddenly overcome with a wave of dizzy nervousness, I moved forward and sat the hat in its new place upon my head. For a very long split-second, there was nothing, and then, not in my ears but in my head, I heard a quiet, "Well, well. You'd be a good Ravenclaw, you would. . . But it seems you want Gryffindor?"  
  
I hadn't realized it, but the hat was right. "Yes, I do," I said slowly. "I hear they and Slytherin are opposites, and Ginny seems to be certain she'll be in Gryffindor." I was babbling.  
  
"Are you sure?" the hat asked. "I have never seen one like you. You'll give the teachers a hard time, you will, if they underestimate you."  
  
I smiled. "Can you tell me something?" I asked.  
  
"What?" came the reply.  
  
"Are you sure I'm supposed to be here, at Hogwarts?" I twisted my hands nervously and anticipated a negative.  
  
"I'm sure," the hat said softly, "and if I'm not mistaken, you'll be doing as much teaching as learning. Go on, get yourself to GRYFFINDOR!"  
  
There was a moment before I realized that this last had been shouted aloud, and I had officially been sorted.  
  
I set the hat back on the stool and watched, smiling, as Ginny ran out and had barely done anything when the hat bellowed, "Gryffindor!" once more.  
  
I grinned at her, and she came running to sit by me.  
  
Hogwarts loomed around me; Slytherin, too, and my own troubles, but there was no point in fretting. The Hat's comments about my doing the teaching were quite amusing, to say the least. Perhaps I would? I was, after all, a mythical creature.  
  
I was starting to feel better about this.  
  
(to be continued. Read? Review, please! Flames will keep me warm at night. Thank you. I appreciate constructive criticism, however.) 


	2. Chapter 2, regarding wands

Again: I do not own Harry Potter. I own Sterling. 'Nuff said. Now, about the fic though: I'll say this now. It sucks. I know it sucks. It's a Mary Sue, plain and simple, and the writing's terrible. I know that. However, this is the only project getting me through writer's block right now, so frankly I don't particularly give a damn if it sucks. If you're a canon diehard, get out now. I can't believe I'm saying that, because I myself am a LOTR canon diehard, but I figure I may as well warn you. Sterling is a character I know very well, and for years, I've wondered what would happen if she went to Hogwarts. This is really satisfying nothing but my twisted mind. That said, if you're still with me, please read and review, and I hope, for your sake and that of my ego, that you enjoy.  
  
My first day of classes dawned cold and bright; it was not really all that cold in reality, but the sky had that strange, cool cloudlessness about it and such a pale shade of clear blue that it looked like a winter morning, and one could almost imagine the grounds sparkling in sunrise-soaked snow as it rose. I was sitting by the window; I'd gotten a little sleep and woken early. I felt like I was moving in water; everything was new and slow and strange. My bed was too soft and fluffy, and everything was in the wrong places. I had a lot of acclimatizing to do.  
  
I supposed, now that I thought about it, that there were surely spells for un-fluffing pillows and making beds harder than they already were. These people had spells for everything a human could want! For hair-straightening and tooth-flossing and how-to-apply-a-perfect-coat-of-paint-ensuring – they really did everything with those wands. That too, was very odd. Being inside Hogwarts was like being inside a television. So much was going on; so much static, so many extraneous magics – that I almost felt dulled, as though my connection with the Elements were blurred. And I supposed it was. Here I was – I was going to learn to wave my wand and achieve all sorts of practical nonsense. I had a flash of doubt.  
  
Did I really want to be here?  
  
The sound of a great bell ringing made me start, and the sleepy groans of my fellow Gryffindors as they awoke broke the near-silence of morning. I sighed and stood, and walked to get my things. I was dressed already, hidden in plain black robes, feeling old beyond my small body's age. My wand was tucked in my pocket like a thing of shame; it was hidden carefully so that I might almost forget its existence. I was yet uneasy about its containing a unicorn hair. It made sense, but it made me feel strange; whose hair, what unicorns? I knew that these people had tame unicorns they were fond of, little smiling things with gold-coloured horns that bore none of my own repulsion from the metal. I supposed it was one of them.  
  
I twisted the silver ring around my finger, feeling the edge dig into my skin. That ring bound me, body and soul, to Inxcheala. I looked at it, and smiled softly.  
  
"Sterling!"  
  
I jumped, turning around. It was Ginny's voice, and there she was, red hair flying madly as she tried to brush it into shape. I smiled at her; a shy expression, but given the smile she returned it with, a welcome one, too.  
  
"Hey, Ginny," I said. "'Mornin', there."  
  
"Come on, Sterling," she said, "Aren't you coming to breakfast?"  
  
I started. Oh! Breakfast! "Yes, I'm coming," I replied, following her. She seemed to know somehow where she was going. Maybe she had picked up the directions the night before. I, however, was completely lost, and I followed her dutifully. We reached the Great Hall, as I had learned it was called, and she sat us down beside a similarly redheaded boy, who looked a little older than Ginny.  
  
"Hello, Ron," Ginny said shyly. "May we sit here?" Ron looked up, and I recognized him as the boy who had come in with Harry Potter, riding the rumour that they had driven a flying car to Hogwarts.  
  
"Sure, Ginny," Ron replied, and I wordlessly sat down beside her as she settled herself in.  
  
He was her brother, right? I was trying to remember. Yes; he looked so much like her that it was impossible for them not to be related. Across from him was a girl with bushy, wild brown hair and kind eyes that sparkled, and next to him . . . I opened my eyes a little wider. I'd barely caught a glimpse of him during the house party the night before, but there he was, now only sitting a few people away from me. Harry Potter. He looked like a kind boy, like he might have a good sense of humour.  
  
I smiled into my plate of breakfast and made a mental note to talk to him about his stardom sometime soon. I was curious – surely, he wouldn't remember his first encounter with Voldemort, but according to Ginny he'd had more than one run-ins with the Dark Lord. I also mentally reminded myself not to say said Dark Lord's name. People looked at me funny when I did. I knew Harry wasn't afraid of the name, though, not according to Ginny. Perhaps his willingness to say it was because he'd defeated him? My willingness was simply because I owed my fear to other darkness. Voldemort might be evil, and a good thing to fear, but it was not ingrained in me like some things were.  
  
Harry looked over and smiled at Ginny, who blushed a furious red. "Hello," she squeaked.  
  
"Welcome to Hogwarts," Harry said warmly. He gave a nod in my direction as well, and I nodded back.  
  
"Hello, Ginny," the bushy-haired girl said, and Ginny replied in like terms. I sat, feeling small, and I waved to the girl, a light turn of my hand.  
  
"Who are you?" she asked me.  
  
Me? "I'm – ah – Sterling, Sterling Walsh." Now it was my turn to blush. This girl had an air of wisdom about her, and she held it there with such an ease that it was clear she was quite talented.  
  
"I'm Hermione Granger; nice to meet you," she said.  
  
I smiled.  
  
After some time, we got our class schedules. I looked at mine, and compared it to Ginny's. They were the same; all divided by House. We had Transfiguration first. After some discussion of their own schedules, Ron and his friends turned to us.  
  
"What have you got first?" Hermione asked.  
  
"Transfiguration," I replied nervously. I was starting to worry.  
  
Hermione smiled. "Oh! That'll be fun for you. McGonagall's a good teacher, and it's not terribly hard."  
  
Ron rolled his eyes. "Says you," he said, making it very clear he disagreed with her assessment of the course's difficulty.  
  
Hermione laughed. "Anyways, though – she had us turning pins into needles on the first day, after she explained it. Don't worry if you don't get it."  
  
I guess that she must have seen the nervous look on my face, and was trying to help me out. Pins into needles! Once I learned what I was doing, that didn't sound so bad. I nodded. "Thanks," I said softly. Ginny got herself into a lively conversation with her brother then, and breakfast was over before I knew it.  
  
And we were off to Professor McGonagall's room. She was sitting there waiting, smiling, and when we were all there, sitting nervously, our feet dangling a few inches short of the floor and out wands lying await on our desks, she began the lesson. As she talked, I grew more and more confused. Clearly, there was some logic to waving your wand a certain way and uttering the perfect words and putting your willpower in the right place. I understood the willpower part only. But at last, she was done with the instruction, and with my mind reeling, I stared at my pin. I was going to turn that thing into a needle after all! I was!  
  
I waved my wand and tried hard to do everything she had said. Nothing happened; and it was an eerie nothing. I felt nothing at all. Just to test it, I found the elements for the metal; it was a thing of fire and earth and ice; fed a quiet bit of energy into it, and commanded that it change. It did. Instead of a pin, I now had a needle. Suddenly worried, I glanced around the room, at everyone struggling to transfigure their own pins, and was quiet so as not to attract attention to my unorthodox success. Then I turned it back into a pin, and tried waving my wand again.  
  
This time, something happened. There was a terrible jolt, and the wand blazed hot in my fingers, and I smelled something funny, like something was burning. A puff of smoke issued from the end of my wand, and then it rapidly changed color. It was burning my hand. Now, I yelped, and McGonagall came running over to me. She pulled out her own wand and aimed it at mine, whispered something, and my wand stopped its antics, smoking slightly.  
  
"What happened, Miss Walsh?" she asked me.  
  
I wasn't exactly sure, but I had an idea. "Look," I said softly, not wanting everyone to stare at me, "I think my wand doesn't want me."  
  
She looked at it funny. "Well," she said slowly, almost reluctantly, "given the way it behaved, that could be possible."  
  
I knew it was quite possible. Waving it around might have wakened the unicorn hair within at the shop, but it had felt odd. Actually trying to do magic with it forced the unicorn hair to contend with me. It was too far from myself, I supposed.  
  
McGonagall cast a small spell over it, and it issued a puff of gold-colored smoke. I flinched, fighting the urge at the sight of so much gold to whinny and run. It was a hair from some unicorn to whom gold was acceptable, then, if its color was such. I didn't dare tell McGonagall that, but from my reaction it was clear she understood that I was not at all comfortable with the results. "Curious," she said. "Very curious." I could not understand her look. Clearly, she recognized that something was wrong, but she seemed loath to believe my reason. "It has been many, many years that I have taught at Hogwarts," she said slowly to me. "And I have never seen a student so ill-fitted with a wand; never once." She looked once more at my wand, as if remembering my expression at the cloud of gold. I shuddered once more, and then realized that an idea was forming itself in my brain. At last she sighed, and asked me to try it again, to similar disastrous results.  
  
"Well, Miss Walsh," she said, looking at me suspiciously, "I appreciate that you find something ill at ease about the essence of the wand. Where did you get it?"  
  
I swallowed. "Ollivander's, Professor," I said meekly.  
  
She looked even more surprised. "Ollivander, getting a wand wrong? Unheard of, Miss Walsh. We must keep in mind that you are, after all, merely a beginner, and not yet perfect at casting these spells."  
  
I nodded. "True, Professor," I admitted. "But the gold – it's not right." She looked at me, and she cast the spell over my wand again. I shivered, and felt a sudden wave of nausea, going so far as to clamp a hand over my mouth before it passed. Her eyes widened.  
  
"All you all right, Miss Walsh?" she asked me.  
  
I made a rather weak gesture for yes. "Please, don't do that again," I said. I could feel the impurity of the gold burning the air around me, and my stomach churned. I felt dizzy.  
  
She looked at me. "If, Miss Walsh," she said, "the essence of this wand is incompatible with your own, I don't believe Ollivander would have ever sold it to you."  
  
I shook my head. "Please, Professor," I begged, trying hard to seem meek and submissive, and not show my frustration, "please, I can't bear gold like that."  
  
Her gaze lingered for a long time on my face, searching. At last, she gave a sigh. "I will talk to the headmaster," she said slowly, "but until then I'm afraid you must muddle through with what you have as best you can." She actually seemed a little sorry.  
  
"Professor?" I asked, a hopeful idea forming.  
  
"Yes, Miss Walsh?" she said, now looking irritated, as if she wished she could be done with me already.  
  
"Are there any red pines on the Hogwarts grounds?"  
  
"I believe so," she said.  
  
"May I go try and find one?"  
  
Now she truly looked annoyed. "Miss Walsh, this is nonsense. I have a class to attend to –"  
  
"Please," I said, "I won't cause trouble. If I can find a red pine, we can solve this."  
  
"How?" she asked, as though she were almost trying not to laugh.  
  
I sighed. "Can you just trust me?" I asked. "This issue will be over."  
  
"Miss Walsh," she said, "I have found in my years of teaching that trusting first years to go somewhere on the first day of classes is usually disastrous."  
  
I saw her point, but I pressed her. "Please, Professor. You have my word."  
  
Just then, there was an explosion across the room. She looked alarmed, and resignedly gave me a quick, "Fine, go!" and dashed off to fix another boy's mistake. I felt a little bad for having wrangled it out of her, and it seemed to me that the only reason she had agreed was that she wanted to make sure the other kids didn't kill each other. I didn't expect it was something I would ever get away with again. But on the other hand, I was thrilled. If my plan worked, I would be set to face Hogwarts on much more familiar ground. I liked that idea.  
  
It took me a little while to find my way out onto the grounds, but from there, spotting the telltale shape of the branches and the color of the bark was easy. I knelt before the tree and said a prayer for a minute, and by the end of it, I found that a stick of unpeeled but fairly straight red pine wood was lying beside me, maybe a foot long. I smiled, and thanked Inxcheala and the edrah for the gift. I ran back to class just in time to collect my things and go on to my next class, which was Charms. If Professor McGonagall notice my return, or what I held in my hand, she said nothing.  
  
**  
  
After I was gone, she looked around her classroom and sighed. She picked up some fallen pieces of furniture, and then approached my desk. I had left my wand lying there, loath to touch it. She stared at it, and sighed, shaking her head. I would learn later that that incident had sparked a curiosity in her regarding myself, but that what clinched it was when she picked up my pin to put it away with the others. She gave a start as she took it into her hand; it was heavier than the others, and shone with a slightly different hue. She inspected it closely.  
  
"Silver!" she exclaimed, surprised. "Why, the girl turned it into silver!" 


	3. Chapter 3, regarding Snape

Thanks, Dicere! Love your fics – I was thrilled to see you liked mine! Now, the quotes are direct, because you have to love Snape's line. Everything else- complete rubbish, just like the other two chapters. What did we expect, hmmm? Cheers . . . hope you enjoy, dear reader. All I can ask in return is that you click the little button . . .yes, that one . . . . it says "Review."  
  
**  
  
I don't know how I made it through that first day. Charms seemed like a constant threat – I was praying nobody would notice the absurd appearance of my wand, which still had reddish, flaky bark clinging to it. I blended in happily with the class, none of whom got the spell right – I tried to do it their way, and whether it was unfamiliarity with that kind of magic or my makeshift wand's odd state that tripped me up, I didn't care. . I passed my anxiety for first-day nerves, which the rest of the class had. But for me, it was trying to gauge how to disguise my magic as theirs, or how their magic worked from the wands and so seemingly disconnected from everything I'd ever known. I was not going to stand out. I was not. I was so convinced that I was going to fit in perfectly that it made me wretchedly nervous.  
  
Defense Against the Dark Arts was a sham; the professor, Gilderoy Lockheart, was an absolute idiot. Half the girls in my class thought he was swoony, but I thought he was a fool. Anyone with that many self-portraits needed some ego deflating. He didn't call on us for wandwork, though; just showed off some laughable nonsense about his books.  
  
We didn't have Potions that day, for which I found myself later to have been extremely lucky. Neither, I noted later, did I see any more of the rather mysterious Hendrick Lodwhyn.  
  
Of course, that evening at dinner, I spoke with Harry again, who warned both Ginny and I against the horrors of Professor Snape, the Potions master, and we left the Great Hall dreading the next day's classes. I checked my schedule, though and found that to my surprise, we would have a class called Care of Magical Creatures. When I read that, I found myself laughing. The sudden fit of giggles caught Ginny's attention.  
  
"What's so funny, Sterling?" she asked me curiously.  
  
In between laughs, I managed to express some sort of surprise at having a class on Magical Creatures. She looked confused for a minute, and then remembered that I was Muggle-born. "Oh," she said brightly. "I've heard that's a really interesting class- my brothers, you know – study of all sorts of things, from flobberworms to dragons and unicorns – though they say we won't see any dragons, too dangerous – Sterling, what is so funny?"  
  
I had given a rather loud snort of astonishment as she had said unicorns. Unicorns? We were going to study unicorns? I could just see it now . . . . "No, professor, I know nothing about unicorns, nothing at all . . . ." I muttered under my breath, trying to stop laughing. "I'm sorry, Ginny," I managed at last. "Just- pleasantly surprised, that's all."  
  
She looked a little suspicious of me now, and turned to hear what her brother was saying, rather disgruntledly.  
  
"No!" I exclaimed, trying hard to fix the situation. "I'm not laughing at you, honest! I've just always had a penchant for magical creatures, and it's all so new—it almost seems funny," I finished lamely. I might tell her eventually, if I knew her well enough. Maybe. But not now. I didn't have the courage to do it now.  
  
She seemed placated by my speech, and smiled. "Oh," she said. "I guess I'm really used to this stuff."  
  
I shrugged. "I guess I'm just not prepared. What else have we got tomorrow?"  
  
We both looked at our schedules. Herbology was the next day, as well as Care of Magical Creatures and Potions. The Potions class was scheduled with the Slytherins. Ginny groaned, and showed that to her brother, Ron, who gave an indignant squawk and choked on his pumpkin juice.  
  
"Why, that –," he spluttered, trying to regain his breath.  
  
Hermione, sitting next to him, gave him a rather disapproving look and turned to us. "What is it?" she asked.  
  
Ginny, who was laughing to herself at Ron's absurd appearance, showed Hermione the schedule. "We'll have double Potions with the Slytherins, look," she said.  
  
"Oh," Hermione said. "That is bad. Do they do it on purpose?"  
  
Ron, who had regained his breath, cried, "Of course he does it on purpose! Snape just likes to torture the Gryffindors. The git hates us!"  
  
I was beginning to recall Professor Snape, the potions master. Slightly yellow skin, hooked nose, dark, messy hair, unpleasant expression . . . . "He's the Head of Slytherin, isn't he?" I asked.  
  
Harry nodded. I gave a start; I'd almost forgotten he was there. "He favors them, too," he said. His face darkened. "He can't stand me, especially."  
  
I was beginning to understand the situation. "So . . . let me get this straight. We have Potions with the Slytherins, who are predominantly rumoured to be unpleasant. We're being taught by Professor Snape, who hates Gryffindors and loves Slytherins. Therefore, we're to expect a lousy time. Am I on the right track?"  
  
Ron shook his head. "Not a lousy time," he muttered. "Flat-out bad."  
  
***  
  
I was not, needless to say, looking forward to Potions the next morning. It was our first class of the morning, so I resolved not to stay up too late. But first, there was the little matter of my wand. I had the pine twig, but I had to make it look presentable, and make a decision.  
  
Was I going to try and fake their magic, and just use the Elements? Could I get away with it?  
  
Or was I going to give my wand a core and see if it could work?  
  
I grinned. Well, I wasn't here to learn how to act. I was here to learn how to wand-wave. I reached for my pine wand, and ran my hands over it, letting the bark flake away so it looked more smooth. Then, I built the pyramid of Elements. I worked under a system of four elements and two extras: Fire, Water, Air, Earth as the four, and Light and Dark as the products of the four combined. I understood that some witches thought of them differently. That, in itself, seemed unfathomable to me.  
  
I called upon water, and before I knew it, I could pass things through the pine piece without disturbing its shape. I found a silver wire, and laid it so it was right in the middle of the twig. Then, I reached for my hair. I found a rather straight piece and pulled, laying it into the heart of the twig as well, watching as the wood behaved like a liquid and closed back over it.  
  
I ended the work before I could mess up the properties of the pine with the water by too much. Then, I lifted my newly modified wand. Well, I thought, if this didn't work, I was going to have to learn how to fake.  
  
Taking a deep breath, I waved the wand once, as I had done in Ollivander's shop. It made a sound like a bell, and silver mist enveloped me. I grinned.  
  
"Red pine and unicorn hair, twelve inches," I said proudly to myself. The silver was in there too, to augment the hair. Technically, it was a human hair, so it needed some help.  
  
I wondered briefly to myself how Ollivander made his wands. Surely not in such a haphazard fashion as I had just made mine? I began to laugh, suddenly. This unorthodox creation would probably be shunned, if anyone knew. But nobody really had to know! I knew this wand would behave for me without a trace of gold. I might even be able to make it work like a normal wand.  
  
The only catch was . . . what had I done with my old one? And how would I explain this to Professor McGonagall?  
  
**  
  
The next morning, I didn't think of my wand much. I didn't suppose I would need to use it in Potions, anyway – but I was worried about the class. We had to walk down to the dungeons, carrying our cauldrons, to find the classroom. It was gloomy, chilly, and unpleasant. I saw the Slytherins, who were sitting across the room. There was Lodwhyn. I looked at him. He didn't seem to notice me, but I studied him on my own. He didn't look like much; a twiggy kid with limp brownish hair. His eyes, not focused on me, were bright, and sharp. I wondered what he was thinking.  
  
I let my gaze wander the to the other Slytherins. Some of them were useless- looking oafs; I struggled to remember some names. There was Davida Dretan, a prissy-looking girl I'd heard bragging about her family's money in the halls. There was Botros Ambriose, a heavyset boy with a dull face. I couldn't recognize the others, but I didn't really think they looked friendly.  
  
Colin Creevy was sitting next to me. He still had the same, obnoxious energy, and he was glaring at the Slytherins for all he was worth. A camera lay on his desk beside his books. Ginny sat on my other side. I smiled nervously at her.  
  
And just then, Snape swept into the room. He fastened us all with a glare, saying nothing as he walked to the front and stood at his desk. He wore a sour expression, and looked us all up and down as though searching for incriminating evidence. Then, he reached for a paper and called roll. Once it was established that everyone was present, he stared at us all once more, and began to speak.  
  
"Welcome," he said, in a voice that almost sounded silky with threats, "to Potions. This class will be absolutely lost on most of you; you will never appreciate the bauty of this most subtle of magics. I have no qualms in failing each and every one of you if you are incompetent. But if you pay attention . . . I can teach you to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death."  
  
That sounded like fun, I mused . . . even if I thought this Snape guy was distinctly unpleasant. He gave me the shivers with his obvious hostility. Casting a glance across the room, I checked out the Slytherin's responses to this speech. Some looked confused: Lodwhyn looked downright pleased. I grinned. This seemed like a challenge to me. Potions was a completely new area of magic in a thousand respects, and there was no wand necessary. It sounded like something wonderful.  
  
Snape apparently noticed my smile. "What, if I may ask," he said, making it very plain that he was allowed to ask, "are you smiling at, Miss Walsh?" he asked me.  
  
I made myself look him in the eye. "I like the sounds of that, Professor," I said as boldly as I could manage.  
  
"Oh, you do, do you?" he asked me. His voice sounded almost lazy, as though taunting me was just barely amusing to him. "Whatever makes you think you can master it?"  
  
"Nothing, Professor . . . . it only makes me think I can try," I replied. I was hoping he would leave it at that. He didn't.  
  
"Surely, Miss Walsh," he said, walking towards my desk, "surely, then, you can answer a question for me?"  
  
I raised my eyebrows, and paused. "Probably not," I admitted at last. "But again, I'll try."  
  
"What, exactly, is the use of gillyweed?" he asked me.  
  
I thought. I didn't remember reading anything about it. At last, I was forced to admit, "I don't know, sir."  
  
He smiled unpleasantly. I really didn't like him now, but there was no backing down.  
  
"A point from Gryffindor, for wasting my time. Can anyone else tell me?" he asked the classroom.  
  
When Lodwhyn answered, and said it enabled the consumer to breathe underwater, I was oddly not surprised. When Lodwhyn was awarded points to Slytherin, I was not surprised. When all the other Gryffindors left, complaining about Potions and dreading future classes with Snape, I was not surprised.  
  
When I realized that I was planning to go straight to the library later and start reading up on things like gillyweed? I wasn't in the slightest surprised.  
  
Care of Magical Creatures, despite some amused apprehension on my part, passed rather uneventfully. I wondered if we would eventually study unicorns; and what I would do if we did. But Professor Kettleburn, though he mentioned them once in passing in his introduction, seemed to have no plan for us other than for us to begin discussing basic magical garden pests, like gnomes. Herbology was notably dull until one plant tried to attack Colin Creevy when he took a picture of it. Professor Sprout had to give us a lecture on greenhouse safety after that incident.  
  
That night, I went to bed happy. The wand-waving would come the next day. I had Transfiguration, and would have to make my excuses to Professor McGonagall, but I'd get through that, somehow.  
  
I fell asleep, and dreamed of golden cauldrons, not being able to touch them without my skin blistering, and Snape not believing me. I dreamed I had to explain myself to everyone and Ginny, kind Ginny, thought I was only a freak . . . . and I dreamed that Lodwhyn laughed, and bridled me with snakes.  
  
Thanks all! (See it? The review button I mentioned earlier? Right. Umm . . . Imperio! Okay, now click? Please?) 


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